


Foolish

by TheDisc (TheDisco)



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Grinding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Period Un-Typical Homosexual Acceptance, Post-Canon, Trans Male Character, hint: theyre both trans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 15:06:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18527530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDisco/pseuds/TheDisc
Summary: Charles pulled back slow and reluctant. He looked down at Arthur for a long moment, then patted him on the chest.“I’ll go start the fire, you get some rest. Doctor’s orders.”“Two weeks worth,” Arthur replied. He let his hand fall away from Charles and onto the bed. He watched his husband cross the room, then whistled. “Charles.”Charles glanced back. Arthur wore a stupid grin.“Take your shirt off while you’re at it, so I can fall outta bed and break my other leg, too.”(After Arthur falls off the roof and busts his leg, Charles has to think of clever ways to keep him in bed.)





	Foolish

**Author's Note:**

> "hrrrgghg Doctor, you need to come here quick because I'm dummy thick and my fat ass made my husband fall off the roof and break his leg"
> 
> happy birth to my dear friend john marston kin

“How are you holding up?”

Arthur paused; sweat dripped off his chin and fell into his open shirt. He leaned back and glanced over the edge of the barn roof to Charles, who stood there with a hand raised to his face. Arthur could see Charles squint behind his hand.

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. He mopped his arm across his sticky forehead.

“M’fine. More or less.” He called back. “Sweatin’ my ass off, mostly.”

Charles’ lips perked up into a smile. “I can see that.”

“Damn. Even from all the way down there?”

“It’s not hard to miss.”

Arthur laughed at that, low and gruff. He turned back to hammering tiles down on the roof.

Fall was fast approaching. The mornings and evenings were getting colder, but the afternoons stayed sweltering hot. The trees around the property offered a little shade now, though soon their leaves would turn orange and red and yellow, and then before you could blink it would be winter again. Their third winter in Mactaquac, a little slice of heaven just north of Maine and the border.

Arthur finished working the tile. He felt Charles’ eyes lingering on him.

As he selected another nail from the box beside him, he hollered, “Don’t you got work to get done? That firewood ain’t gonna chop itself, and I’ll be damned if I freeze on your behalf tonight.”

“You need to lose about fifty pounds before freezing is an issue.”

Arthur laughed at that again. Laughing seemed to come easy these days.

“Well, you’re the one who keeps feedin’ me.”

Charles was thoughtful silent for a moment, while he waited for Arthur to finish hammering.

“Consider it my vice.” He finally said, his voice carrying a smile.

Arthur glanced back. Charles had turned around and made his way instead towards the previously abandoned woodpile. On the way there, Charles grabbed his shirt from the bottom hem and pulled it up over his head. He tossed the article aside and yanked the axe out of the chopping block. He hefted it into his palm, selected a chunk of wood from the pile, and tossed it up onto the block.

Arthur sat back on his knees a little more and craned his neck to get a better look. Charles was turned partially away, which gave Arthur the perfect view of his muscled back and shoulder blades working as he swung the axe. Arthur whistled soft and low.

Canadian geese honked overhead. The warm breeze came by, brushing Arthur’s long hair against the back of his neck. The heavy _thunk_ of wood splintering rang out methodically. The sun beat down, unforgiving, on the both of them.

Arthur pursed his lips, leaned back farther. He reached up and wiped the sweat from his brow with the crook of his forearm. Charles almost seemed to glow in the afternoon light; like a Greek god that had been brought to life. He always wore baggy clothes and that was enough to trick some people into thinking he was soft, but in reality, Charles was solid from head to toe—just _thick_ and _beautiful_.

Arthur, personally, was quite fond of it. He stared a few beats longer than he needed to, as if he hadn’t been waking up beside Charles for the past three years.

Charles paused long enough to flip his hair over his shoulder. He turned his head a bit, and Arthur caught the profile of his mischievous smile. As always, it made his stomach flip.

“I don’t hear that roof being finished.” Charles announced.

Arthur huffed. “It’ll get there. You worry about your work.”

Charles gave him that smile a second longer, then returned to chopping wood. His arms raised above his head, his muscles rippled, and then the axe swung back down.

Arthur wiped his forehead again. His shirt was drenched with sweat, but he didn’t have the same confidence that Charles did to be running around shirtless whenever he pleased. Hosea worked hard through the years to beat any insecurities out of him in that regard, though Arthur supposed that was neither here nor there. Charles had the advantage of naturally being small chested and muscular, while Arthur had always bordered on plain pudgy. Oh well. Charles never seemed to mind, and that was all that mattered to Arthur.

Arthur reached over and felt around for the box of nails. Charles grunted as he slammed the axe back down; his pants edged their way down his hips.

Arthur miscalculated where the box was and knocked it sideways. Nails clattered across the roof, spilling this way and that.

“Damn it all,” Arthur hissed. He lunged to the side to grab the box.

His foot slid, then the rest of his body followed as he lost his balance.

With a great cry, Arthur tumbled off the roof.

 

—30—

 

The doctor clipped his bag shut, nodding.

“Like I said, sir, it’s only a minor break. Along with the scrapes and the bumps.” He collected his hat from the bedside table and placed it on his bald head. “Two weeks rest and you’ll be good as new. You might fancy a cane for a while, if your leg starts to ache.”

Arthur folded his hands over his chest, one of which was bandaged, not quite sure how to feel about himself. He was laid in bed, stripped down to his long johns and an undershirt, with his right leg propped up two pillows high. Said leg was wrapped firm in gauze up to about his knee and held in place by two short boards.

“I ‘preciate it, doc.” Arthur said. “But just what the hell do you expect me to do for two weeks?”

The doctor smiled, calm and patient. Maybe even a little sympathetic.

“Bugger me if I know. The best thing you could do is treat it like a vacation, I suppose.”

“Vacation?” Arthur repeated. “Never heard anythin’ like _that_ before. Sounds dangerous.”

Charles chuckled from the corner of the room. He stayed silent otherwise, his heavy arms crossed over his chest as he observed Arthur. His long johns were bunched up to his knee and his undershirt bulged over his round midsection. Arthur was bigger now than he’d ever been, but Charles didn’t mind. Three square meals a day and not having to worry about dying in a shootout did a lot for Arthur’s physique.

Arthur met Charles’ eyes across the room. Charles had his little smirk and that dark, amused look in his eyes.

It sent shivers through Arthur, despite everything.

The doctor collected his bag and tucked it under his arm.

“Whatever you decide to do, just take it easy, mister Morgan.” The doctor said.

“It’s Morgan-Smith, technically,” Arthur offered. “On account of we didn’t have a quarter to flip at the time.”

Charles rolled his eyes with a soft scoff and a smile. The doctor found the statement quite funny, but he held back his chuckle in favour of clearing his throat and smiling.

“Two weeks bed rest. Little movement here and there after a week, or so. Whiskey for the pain, if you need it.”

He touched the brim of his hat to Arthur. “Mister Morgan-Smith.”

He then turned around and shook Charles’ hand; firm, for a small man. “...And mister Morgan-Smith.”

“Thank you again, doctor.” Charles said.

The doctor wished them both well and let himself out. Charles and Arthur’s eyes met again, and Charles grinned. Arthur looked almost comical laid up in bed, hands folded over his chest and his leg stuck out, the only part visible from the knee down being his pink toes.

Arthur waited a polite second until he heard the front door clatter to ask, “And why do _you_ look so pleased with yourself?”

The smile on Charles’ face spread, broad across his dimpled cheeks. He pulled away from the corner and came to the bedside.

“I think it’s funny that I did that to you.”

“Wasn’t funny when I was on the ground.”

“No, I guess it wasn’t.” Charles agreed as he sat down on the edge of the bed. One hand slid up Arthur’s arm, while the other brushed Arthur’s sweaty bangs out of his face. Charles kissed his forehead, then continued, “Scared me shitless, then. But it’s funny now that I know you’re alright.”

Arthur huffed. His eyes darted between Charles’ hand and his face. Arthur smiled with the corner of his mouth.

“You’ve seen me go through worse than this.”

“Still scared me all those times, too.” Charles’ expression was gentle and lost the teasing edge. “I’m glad you’re okay, mister Morgan-Smith.”

Arthur laughed. He put his head back in the pillows

“Bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?” Arthur’s hand went up; his bandaged knuckles brushed against Charles’ cheek.

“It’s fine.” Charles said softly. “Suits you.”

Charles pressed his lips to Arthur’s, drew him into a sweet kiss. Arthur mumbled against Charles, though otherwise he closed his eyes and cupped Charles’ cheek to keep him close. They stayed like that for a long moment; the feel of Arthur’s lips was sweeter than honey to Charles, and more than he thought he would ever be entitled to.

Charles pulled back slow and reluctant. He looked down at Arthur for a long moment, then patted him on the chest.

“I’ll go start the fire, you get some rest. Doctor’s orders.”

“Two weeks worth,” Arthur replied. He let his hand fall away from Charles and onto the bed. He watched his husband cross the room, then whistled. “Charles.”

Charles glanced back. Arthur wore a stupid grin.

“Take your shirt off while you’re at it so I can fall outta bed and break my other leg, too.”

 

—30—

 

“You know somethin’?”

Charles looked up from the branch he was whittling; it would, hopefully, become a cane in a day or two. He sat in his rocking chair in the corner, bobbing back and forth slowly. The evening wind rattled at the shutters and the lamps flickered on the wall, bathing their room in a dim glow.

“What’s that?”

Arthur pursed his lips together. He flicked his eyes between the cigarettes he was rolling and Charles. He was still holed up in bed, mostly untouched, though him and Charles had a field day earlier trying to rebandage his busted leg after a bath.

“I love you dearly, I swear I do...”

Charles hummed, either in acknowledgement or agreement.

“...But if you leave me here to roll cigarettes for one more day, I promise you I will proper lose my mind.”

Charles smiled. His gaze lowered again to the branch in his lap.

“It’s only been three days, Arthur.”

“Feels like a goddamn eternity.” Arthur finished rolling his cigarette and flung it into the tin with the rest. “Makes me understand why people go nuts and chop their husbands and wives to bits.”

“Is that what you’re going to do?”

“I’m considerin’ it.”

Bitterly, Arthur took up his rolling papers again. The wind whistled louder, and only served to remind him of all the work he had left to do around the ranch before winter set. The barn roof needed to be finished, firewood needed to be chopped, and those shutters needed to be replaced. Not to mention they needed to get their pantry filled for those times when the snow would be too thick at the pass to get into town. Canadian winters were unforgiving, and Arthur doubted they would go easy this year because he was hurt.

As the silence fell them again, Arthur scoffed and shook his head.

“You know, I’m just about tired of nursin’ my leg, anyhow, cigarettes and whatnot aside. I oughta be gettin’ up and movin’ before I forget how to walk altogether.”

“Doctor said you had to wait a week.”

“No, I reckon he told me as soon as I felt fine I was good to work again.”

Charles looked up. Arthur caught his smirk and immediately Arthur knew he wasn’t going to like whatever Charles had to say.

“I asked him yesterday while I was in town. He said a week in bed, minimum, to set the bone. Then you can start walking.”

Arthur scoffed. He brought the cigarette to his lips to lick the paper, then rolled it between his fingers. “This is the one time in my life I’m willin’ to get up and go to work, and here you are holdin’ me back.”

“I’m wretched, I know.”

“C’mon, Charles,” Arthur’s voice dropped the annoyance and settled for a plead instead. “Wheel me outside, or somethin’, even just let me sit on the porch. I’m tired of stewin’ in my own stink here.”

Charles always had a killer poker face when they were running in the gang. He was good at keeping what he was thinking to himself; a lot of times, that lead people to believe he was mean inside and out, or at least just indifferent to everything. If you spent enough time with him, though, and paid close enough attention, he was more expressive than most thought.

What Arthur saw in Charles’ face now was pure pity, his brows eased together, and his lips pursed.

Even though he meant well, Arthur felt awful. He never liked it when people gave him pity.

“In the morning, maybe. It’s sleeting rain out there, now.”

Arthur finished rolling the cigarette and disposed of it into the tin like the others. He huffed.

“Well, I wouldn’t know; on account of me not having been outside in about five weeks.”

“Three days,” Charles corrected. Keeping his pitiful smile about him, Charles propped the cane on the wall beside him and got out of his chair. “You want a cup of coffee, or anything?”

“A glass of whiskey would be nice,” Arthur said. He put the lid on the cigarette tin and put away all its fixings. “For my awful, achin’ pain...”

“Right. I guess I can do that... Since I’m holding you captive.”

“It’s the least you could do, truly.”

They both shared a little smile for a moment, and then Charles left the room. Arthur listened to his heavy footfalls, waited until they tapered off for the cellar, and then he promptly threw the blanket off himself.

He lifted his bad right leg up an inch off the mattress and shifted it towards the edge of the bed. Biting his cheek to keep from making a sound, Arthur hooked it over the edge and then swung his good leg around to follow. His bad leg throbbed something awful now that it was being moved, but so far, it was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before.

Arthur sat up fully at the edge of the bed. He gripped onto the side table with one hand and took a deep breath.

“Here we go,” he mumbled to himself. With that extra motivation, Arthur pulled himself to his feet.

He overestimated himself at first and put too much weight on his bad leg. Searing pain shot through it hot enough that it almost made Arthur crumble. He worked through it, instead, determined at least to make it to the living room for some decent scenery. Taking in another deep breath and holding on tight with gritted teeth, Arthur used the bedside table as a crutch and did a half-hop over to the windowsill.

He grabbed that ledge instead, though it left him bent awkwardly at the waist. Keeping all his weight off the bad leg, Arthur hopped towards the window and straightened himself out. Sweat poured down his face. His leg throbbed—throbbed like someone was beating him with a red-hot hammer.

Minor break, his ass; if this was minor, Arthur didn’t want to imagine what a major one would entail.

Arthur inched his way across the windowsill. His eyes fell on the unfinished cane; he didn’t fancy getting splinters, but there was no way they could feel as bad as his leg did right now.

Breathing shakily, Arthur reached out for the branch. His fingers brushed the handle, but he was just out of reach from it; when he went to grab it, he jostled it instead, causing it to roll to the floor. Arthur tried to catch it, to no avail.

“You clumsy goddamn oaf!” Arthur cussed to himself.

He learned his lesson last time about trying to catch things that were falling, so Arthur didn’t try to bend down and grab the cane. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes instead and wondered if this was even worth it. The pride of knowing he could get out of bed at least was pretty good, but would the means really justify the end in this case? At the same time, though, he had gotten this far, Arthur could just as easily hobble his way into the living room and collapse on the couch.

It would be better than laying in bed for another week. Arthur decided to take his chances. He scooted forth, grit his teeth through the pain, and used Charles’ rocking chair as a lean. He hobbled along, and before he knew it, he had made it to the hallway outside their bedroom door. Five more steps and he’d be on the couch, except Arthur’s head was starting to throb from the pain, too.

He took a second to collect his thoughts. With one shoulder leaned on the wall, and his bad leg awkwardly held up behind him, Arthur clutched his forehead. Mumbling, breathing, and cussing softly to himself in hopes it would take the edge off.

It was too late when he realized the pounding in his ear wasn’t just his temple throbbing. Upon looking up, Arthur squinted, and saw Charles standing there in the entrance to the living room. His brows were furrowed, and his lips tugged in a frown. He had a tin cup in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in another. The good stuff, Arthur noted.

“Howdy, Charles,” Arthur managed. “Fancy meetin’ you here.”

Charles looked at him in disbelief. “Are you an idiot?”

“I’ve been told a few times.”

Charles didn’t have anything smart to say to that. Rather, he tucked the whiskey in his back pocket and put the cup around one of his fingers, so that he could come and take Arthur’s arm. He slung it over his wide shoulder, giving Arthur enough leverage to lean on.

“You need to get back to bed.” Charles stated. His voice was low and flat. “You shouldn’t be out at all.”

Still sweating and breathing raggedly from the pain, Arthur nodded his head. He hobbled along with Charles’ help, back the way he came.

“I reckon that’s a fine idea.”

 

—30—

 

Charles squeezed the middle of Arthur’s leg and watched his expression for change. “How’s that?”

Arthur’s face contorted. He promptly hid it behind his glass of whiskey as he drank. He smacked his lips after.

“S’fine,” he mumbled. “But it’d be better if you didn’t have your ham hands on it.”

“Sorry.” Charles paused as he squeezed Arthur’s leg again, higher up this time. “It helps blood flow.”

Arthur hissed, then mumbled something to his cup. Charles assumed it wasn’t a flattering statement of any kind, so he didn’t ask Arthur to repeat himself.

He focused rather on working Arthur’s leg. From his knee, Charles squeezed his way down, palms pressing firmly against the bandages. It was easier to handle the wound without his long johns in the way, so the only thing that gave Arthur modesty now was his cotton undershirt and the blanket over his waist. The bandages felt hot under Charles’ palms and possibly inflamed; he made mental note to fetch the doctor in the morning, if it persisted.

After working along the entirety of Arthur’s calf, Charles slid his hands up to Arthur’s knee and thigh. He squeezed, focused more on the task at hand than anything else.

Arthur got quiet.

Charles didn’t think much of it at first. He continued to massage and squeeze. The only thing that prompted him to stop was Arthur clearing his throat.

Charles glanced up, his hands paused around Arthur’s thigh. He observed Arthur’s face, noted how his eyes were closed and head tilted back. He dangled the cup lazily at his side with a bent arm. His scruffy cheeks were tinted red.

“...Something the matter?” Charles asked.

Arthur cocked an eye open. He looked down at Charles, kneeling at the end of the bed and hunched over him. He wet his lips and shook his head.

“No... Keep goin’.” Arthur breathed. He set his cup on the nightstand along with the bottle. The whiskey took the edge off the pain, amongst other things.

Charles took that with a nod. His hands skirted back down to Arthur’s calf, though he paused to rub his thumbs over Arthur’s bruised knee. He leaned down and laid a kiss just above it. Then he dragged his lips upwards and pressed another to Arthur’s thigh.

Arthur made a soft noise. “Charles...”

Charles’ mouth moved farther upwards. With his lips pursed in a smile, he brushed them against Arthur’s soft thigh. He kissed again, and then again, and again; carefully spreading Arthur’s legs as he went, inching his way upwards and inwards.

Arthur squirmed. The warmth from Charles’ heavy hands and his soft lips went straight up his spine in shivers, and then pooled deep in his belly. He brought his unbandaged hand down to stroke the top of Charles’ hair.

“It’s a kind gesture,” he muttered. “But it’s only gonna serve to rile me up.”

Charles’ eyes flickered up, dark but hot with mischief.

“I’m aware.”

The way the words fell off Charles’ tongue, combined with the look in his eyes, made Arthur moan.

“Well... In that case, then.”

Arthur took the hand out of Charles’ hair and used it instead to pull the blanket aside, exposing himself.

Charles happily shifted from the end of the bed to follow the curve of Arthur’s hairy thighs. As he went, Charles laid more kisses and gentle love bites, each one of which made Arthur twitch and tense beneath him.

Arthur flung his arm across his eyes. He sucked in a breath as Charles nibbled the inside of his thigh, ever so close to his core.

“Haven’t you done enough damage already?” Arthur asked.

“Not nearly.”

Charles laid fully between Arthur’s thighs and spread them apart. His palms roamed across Arthur’s hipbones, and then across the soft rise of his belly under his shirt, pushing the article up. Charles kissed the inside of Arthur’s thighs, before he brought his arms back and hooked them under Arthur. Charles took a moment to lean forward, paying special attention to Arthur’s soft belly. He kissed his navel.

Arthur sighed, his head completely tilted back, only to jump when Charles grabbed his chub and squeezed gently. Arthur craned his neck to look down again, scruffy cheeks flushed pink. Charles met him with a smirk.

“You’re so soft,” Charles stated. He kissed at Arthur’s belly again, then let his tongue trace downwards, through his happy trail.

Arthur rolled his eyes. Embarrassed, he laid back and focused on the feel of Charles’ trailing tongue.

Charles pulled his face back. One of his heavy, hot hands moved from Arthur’s waist to splay low on his belly; Charles ran his fingers through Arthur’s bush, parted him at his center, then followed up with his tongue.

Arthur breathed deep. His eyes trailed downwards to watch Charles. Most of Charles’ face was hidden below him and behind the mound of curls there. His eyes were closed.

Arthur bit his lip hard, chest rattling again as Charles explored him with a confident tongue; precise movements melted into broad licks across the whole of him. Charles circled his tongue around Arthur’s cock, and then closed around it, sucking softly.

Charles moaned against him. Arthur tensed all over, then forced himself to relax again. He savoured the building pleasure low in his belly. With a sigh, he folded an arm behind his head; the other one trailed down, his fingers brushing against Charles’ clutching his waist.

Without missing a beat, Charles took Arthur’s hand and squeezed. His tongue lavishly rolled over Arthur’s stout, stiffening cock.

Arthur choked on an inhaled, “Damn!” His hips jerked up into Charles’ mouth on instinct.

In reply, Charles pressed closer against Arthur, his shoulders tight to the other’s thighs, and his tongue stroked every part of him. Charles mouthed at Arthur’s wetness, the broad of his tongue licking up, over and over. Charles’ stubbled upper lip rubbed against Arthur’s sensitive cock and his tongue toyed with his hole. It all drove Arthur crazy in the best way possible.

“Go back up, just a bit,” Arthur moaned. “Just a bit.”

To encourage Charles further, he brought his free hand down and slipped it into Charles’ long hair. Arthur lifted his hips and pushed them more into Charles’ eager mouth.

“Mm-hm,” Charles mumbled against him.

The vibrations from his deep, smooth voice went through Arthur’s core and left him throbbing even more. Soaked through and through, Arthur could only moan as Charles’ firm tongue licked him again, and his attention finally fell on his aching cock.

Charles pumped Arthur’s dick with his mouth, sucking it almost in waves. Arthur’s heart raced as the heat in his belly coiled. He rocked his hips, desperately chasing that pleasure and the solid feel of Charles’ stubbled chin on him. Arthur’s voice hitched in a moan as they fell in rhythm with each other—his rolling hips with Charles’ pulsing mouth.

A sweat broke out on Arthur’s flushed cheeks and chest. His breathing got more ragged the closer he got. He squeezed Charles’ hand in a vice grip.

“Sweet goddamn Jesus,” Arthur practically sang. “Just like that, just like that— _Jesus_ , Charles!”

Arthur arched straight off the bed when he came, far more intense and sudden than he anticipated. Pleasure washed over him, numbing everything out; for a moment, all Arthur felt was that sweet relief, Charles’ heavy hands on him, and an impossibly hot mouth sucking his cock.

While he worked through his orgasm, Arthur continued to fuck himself into Charles’ mouth. Charles accepted it all with a welcome, rhythmic tongue, which stroked circles around Arthur’s cock and flicked it gently, before going lower and sucking him there as well.

Arthur could barely breathe by the end of it. Mind reeling, he reclined back into the bed; he sunk down into the pillows, dazed eyes trained on the ceiling.

“Charles, you’re a saint,” Arthur breathed. His hand moved down to stroke Charles’ cheek and his eyes sagged partially shut.

Charles grinned, obviously pleased with himself. He pressed another kiss to the inside of Arthur’s thigh and then peeled back. His fingers slid out of Arthur’s hand as he sat back on his knees.

For a second, Charles just drank in the scene. There was something indescribably beautiful about Arthur in that moment; satisfied and spent, he laid out on their bed with his cheeks flushed pink, his dusty blond hair damp on his forehead, and his sparkling blue eyes glazed with dwindling pleasure.

Charles wanted nothing more than to kiss him.

Slowly, Arthur caught his breath. He turned his head towards Charles staring at him longingly. A smile took Arthur’s lips, and he motioned his hand.

“Get up here.”

His voice was shaky at the edges but commanding regardless. Charles replied with his own smile as he crawled back up the bed and along Arthur’s body.

Arthur took his husband into his arms and clutched him close. Charles slid in between Arthur’s spread thighs. He carefully positioned himself away from the broken leg, and then he leaned his weight down into Arthur. Arthur wrapped his arms around Charles’ shoulders, knotted a hand into his hair, and greedily crushed their lips together.

Arthur could taste himself in Charles’ mouth, but he didn’t care an inch. He just moaned, along with Charles, and let his hand stroke every curve and bump over Charles’ clothes. They sucked and nibbled each others’ lips as they kissed, hot and sloppy, until Arthur mumbled into Charles’ mouth, “Ride me, sweet thing.”

The lust in his voice made Charles shiver and a spark of desire go through him. His own dick twitched.

“You sure?”

“‘Course. I can handle it.”

Promptly, Arthur caught Charles’ mouth again; he moaned, kissed his way in, slow and deep. Arthur’s hands slid up under the hem of Charles’ shirt, across his quivering belly and to his ribs. Charles melted into his eager kiss and delicious touch.

Doing as told, Charles broke their kiss and sat back enough to rid himself of his pants. Once they were shed over the side of the bed, he straddled Arthur’s good leg. He slid forward and settled himself on Arthur’s thick thigh. Charles made a show of pulling off his shirt, and he flung it aside without a care, letting it join his pants. Charles flipped his hair over his shoulder, and upon giving Arthur an excited smile, started rocking his hips.

Arthur’s hands jumped back to Charles’ body. They were eagerly followed by his wide, blue eyes, which scraped across Charles’ whole form as if entranced. He wet his lips as he stroked his hands over Charles’ ribs, and then to his firm pecs.

“This okay?” Arthur asked. He pressed, gently rolling Charles’ hard nipples under his palms.

Charles breathed heavily himself. He arched his back into Arthur’s touch and rocked his hips with more urgency. He was wet enough already that there was little resistance; he slid smoothly against Arthur’s thigh while nodding his head.

“Perfect,” Charles mumbled in reply. He held onto one of Arthur’s wrists, to keep him close. His other hand stretched out behind him and clasped Arthur’s knee for support.

Charles let his full weight sag down as he rutted with full, steady movements. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes slid shut; as he grinded his dick down against Arthur’s large thigh, his lips parted. Breathy noises and low, soft moans escaped him.

Arthur watched in awe. Charles’ naked body above him was beyond beautiful. Arthur squeezed his pec with one hand, while he let the other one slide down across Charles’ fuzzy chest. He followed the dark treasure trail downwards, and for a moment he let his hand rest on Charles’ broad stomach. Arthur breathed deep himself, words beyond him, before he propped his leg up, brining Charles forward, and moved to clutch his hip instead.

As Arthur’s leg pressed harder against him, Charles moaned. He leaned forward, hair falling in curtains around his face, both hands planted on the bed beside Arthur’s shoulders instead. Charles rocked his hips quicker, desperately chasing his own building orgasm.

Arthur bounced his leg best he could to help Charles out. He stroked his hand over Charles’ chest, fingers teasing his nipple. Charles moaned louder, and Arthur’s mouth watered.

“Arthur,” Charles said suddenly. His voice was heavy and breathy. His hips never lost pace and left a slick wet spot across Arthur’s thigh.

“Yeah, sweet thing?”

Charles planted one of his hands on the left side of Arthur’s chest. Under his wide palm, he felt Arthur’s heart pound. Charles parted his full lips and the softest sound left him.

“I love you.”

Arthur’s heart slammed, and his body throbbed with a hundred different sensations. No matter how many times he heard Charles say those words, they always made him feel so good; good to the point where Arthur didn’t think he deserved it. But he loved it. God, he loved it.

“You know I love you, too,” Arthur whispered back.

He caught glimpses of Charles’ face under his cascading hair. His jaw rolled, eyes screwed shut as his hips worked faster. He always got the cutest expression before he came, Arthur thought. So, taking this stride, Arthur propped his leg up higher, braced it more solidly, and then grabbed Charles by the hips to help him move faster.

Charles gave a drawn-out moan, deep from his chest. His head tilted back as the pleasure curled red hot in his belly and between his thighs. Everywhere Arthur touched him felt like fire, but in the best way possible. Breathing shakily, Charles quickly approached his peak, and then he seized.

Charles was quieter as he came, though his body quaked as he did. He gave little spasms as he rocked against Arthur.

An even hotter wetness spread on Arthur’s thigh. For those few moments, it helped Charles slide back and forth as he finished completely, his own flushed cock twitching. He only rutted a second more, before it became too much for his over-stimulated cock.

Charles sighed as the pleasure settled over him. His shoulders sagged, and Charles shifted over to one side.

His intention was to grab a rag and clean them both up before the cold of the room made the wet spot in the bed unbearable; instead, Charles underestimated his size, and as he swung himself around to crawl out of bed, he dropped his knee into Arthur’s bad leg.

Relaxed and content as Arthur had been, he quickly jumped back into action. With a cry, he folded in on himself and lurched up. He cursed loud, hands going to grab his leg.

Once he realized what he had done, Charles jerked back to his previous position and decisively sat there, awkwardly half-straddling Arthur’s good leg.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Charles said. He swung to his right and climbed out that way. He went for Arthur’s beside table.

“It’s fine. It was only an accident,” Arthur managed through gritted teeth. He clamped his hands over his bad calf, waiting for the pain to subside. “Or at least I hope to hell it was.”

Charles poured a generous glass of whiskey. After twisting the cap back on, he offered the cup to Arthur.

Once the pain eased enough, Arthur accepted the cup and sucked back its contents. At this point, Charles climbed back in at his side of the bed; when Arthur laid down, Charles curled into his side. Despite everything, a little smile spread his flushed face as he rested his cheek on Arthur’s chest.

For good measure, and as an apology, Charles kissed Arthur’s collarbone. Arthur huffed himself as he put his arm around Charles’ shoulder. His leg still throbbed, but it slowed to a manageable pace.

To chase his whiskey, Arthur got a cigarette from their tin and lit it up. After taking a puff, he handed it off to Charles. It took a few moments for him to talk.

“...I reckon I oughta be glad you busted me up,” Arthur finally mused. Smoke tumbled out of his mouth and filled the air. “Since this is how you seem to show your pity—with good sex and liquor in bed...”

Charles hummed, mild guilt building in his chest. After taking a drag, he rolled the cigarette between his fingers a moment. “I’m sorry again for that. Imagine, though, what I could do to you if you weren’t busted.”

Arthur made a low throat-noise. He rubbed Charles’ arm, then trailed upwards to brush his fingers through Charles’ increasingly frizzy hair.

“I didn’t think about that. That’s a good point.”

Arthur paused for a moment while Charles handed their smoke back. He flicked the ash into the tray on the side table.

Charles made himself comfortable on Arthur’s chest. Eyes slipping shut, he listened to the steady beat of Arthur’s heart, and the slight rattle to his lungs when he breathed or spoke.

“Now...” Arthur started. His chest rose under Charles’ cheek. “How can I convince you to help me outside tomorrow?”

“I almost broke your leg again sitting in your lap,” Charles pointed out. He didn’t move his head. “And you want me to take you outside?”

“Yes, I do.” Arthur took a drag. “Just don’t jump me on the way out, an’ we’ll be fine.”

Charles chuckled. He stretched an arm around Arthur’s middle.

“Easier said than done.”

Arthur grinned. “Look, I’m bedridden, not dyin’. You ain’t gotta butter me up—I swear I don’t have some great Last Will and Testament you need to worry ‘bout gettin’ yourself into.”

Charles pulled back enough to look at Arthur. His grin was small and mischievous. The exact same one that made Arthur fall off the roof to begin with.

“Then what the hell am I doing here?” Charles asked.

Arthur met his smile and shrugged his shoulders. “You’re just a fool, I guess.”

The wind rattled violently at the shutters and rain pattered on the roof. The room was bathed low in lamplight, and Charles was warm, and content cuddled up to his husband. Likewise, Arthur smoked in peace, only pausing long enough to pull the blanket up over them both.

Once they were comfortable again, Charles said absently, “Takes a fool to love one, then.”


End file.
